


How to Thank Thorin Oakenshield

by Oakwyrm



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Blind Dwarrowdam, F/F, Mahal's Halls, Stone Sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 03:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3104231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oakwyrm/pseuds/Oakwyrm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cyrka owes everything to Thorin Oakenshield and when she reaches Mahal's Halls she is determined to find some way to thank him for that.</p>
<p>The result? Thorin has a gift waiting outside his door one day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Thank Thorin Oakenshield

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sansûkh](https://archiveofourown.org/works/855528) by [determamfidd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/determamfidd/pseuds/determamfidd). 



> So Sansûkh got me thinking...
> 
> What will happen to my OC, Cyrka Stonesoul, when she goes to Mahal's Halls? Her craft is entirely because of her blindness, and she has gotten so used to using her stone sense to get around that she'd be completely lost and disoriented if she suddenly got her sight back.
> 
> Here's a short fic about her after her death.

Cyrka walked through the Halls, the stone of the walls and floor singing to her and guiding her path. She had worried, at first, that when Mahal remade her he would give her sight but she worried needlessly. He was wise and could see into the hearts of his children. He saw her, and he took pity on her. He had not returned her sight to her.

As she approached another Dwarrow, the stone sang a warning. There was someone standing in her path, quickly she moved to avoid them. As she passed she studied them through the eyes of the stone, their particular weight, the way they stood, their general 'feel'. _Thorin Oakenshield._

She frowned before turning to him, but she thought better of actually speaking to him. They had, after all, only been in their thirties when they had spoken last, so he must have forgotten her.

She, however, would never forget him. It had been a normal morning until the scream of 'dragon' had rent the air. She had been only nineteen, and frightened. She would never forget the last sight she ever saw, a great burst of fire. Then searing pain. She had realized she had to take cover too late, her eyes stung and burned. She had stood there, newly blinded and helpless when a hand had grabbed her and tugged her away.

Later she had found out that the Prince had seen her and lead her to safety, more out of instinct than any conscious thought. His younger brother had been very kind to her as she cried for her parents while Thorin had stood to the side and hugged his weeping little sister close.

Like every Dwarrow, she heard the stone, the gems, all the earth about her, but with the loss of her sight she had started to listen more closely, shaping gold and silver in the paths most suited to them and creating things that, according to the praise of her customers, became the essence of the earth given a visible form. Through this she had meet the trader, Dyll, and the moment she had heard that voice, sensed that weight, the way she stood, proud and confident, she had known. Dyll, on the other hand, did not realize quite as quickly. As a trader she was quick and sharp, nothing ever got by her and woe betide anyone who tried to cheat her, but she in relation to her own feelings she was blinder than Cyrka.

  
Cyrka (left) and Dyll (right)

Cyrka had, however, managed to successfully court Dyll, somehow, she still marveled at the fact that she had managed today and they had been married. Then she had been buried in a cave in. No amount of fore-warning could have helped her escape that one. She frowned as she thought that, really, it was thanks to Thorin Oakenshield that she had had such a wonderful life and died and 211 rather than nineteen and the need to somehow show her appreciation for this grew in her.

She had never worked with iron or copper before, but she could make one of her pieces for him, to show him what he had done for her, and to thank him for what he didn't do. She turned her back on him and made her way swiftly to her forge, removing the work in progress -her first work of mithril, it was to be a gift for Dyll once she joined Cyrka in the halls- and brought some iron out.

Carefully she turned it over in her hands, listening to everything it told her and carefully she started the process. Throughout the forging she would stop now and then and only listen, ever so careful about doing only what the iron bade her do. She found quickly that iron was steadier, slower and stronger than gold or silver, just as mithril was gladder and brighter and somehow more alive. Iron waited, it was patient and strong and fierce. Absently she thought that she should definitely try working with copper later, to get to know a new metal was like being born again, she had found.

The forging took a few days. Iron was slow and steady, and she had to listen more carefully than to metals she was familiar with. Gold was soft and gentle, yet had a tang of cruelness and was sometimes thoroughly ruthless, she refused to work with those pieces. Silver was fast, always seemed to be in a hurry, silver was also cold and bright. Faint and almost unreachable. She thought that must be what stars were like.

Eventually, however, she stood back from her forge, wiping her brow with a satisfied smile on her face. She took the finished piece in her hands and felt along its surface, stretching her stone sense as far as it would go. Finally she was satisfied that she had not gone against the iron at all in the sculpture and set it down on her work bench. She regarded it carefully, thinking of how she was going to give it to him.

For some reason the thought of just plain handing it to him seemed strange and wrong. In her mind she would forever be a simple smith, a smith of some repute, true, but far below a King and hero of the people. She would like to just leave it outside his rooms, but she couldn't pen the note she wanted to go with it. A thought struck her and she was off in a rush, searching high and low for one particular Dwarrow. Finally she found him.

“Frerin!” she called and he stopped. They had become acquainted once again since her entrance into the Halls and she didn't feel too bad about asking for his help. “I hope I'm not interrupting but I need your help,” she said.

“No, I'm not busy,” he said, she grinned.

“Great, come with me,” she grabbed his sleeve and started tugging him along behind her.

They arrived at her forge and she gestured to the iron sculpture.

“Do you think Thorin will like it?” she asked first and he picked it up, examining every inch of it before he let out a low whistle of approval and she could have soared.

“It's gorgeous,” he admired before setting it down. “I hardly think you need _my_ help,” she laughed.

“You already knew that,” she shook her head. It was a well known fact that no other Dwarrow was ever allowed touch her work while it was still in the making. She sighed and tugged at her braided beard. “Unfortunately I don't have the ability to write who it is from,” she turned to face Frerin.

“So you want me to pen a note telling him this sculpture is your doing?” Frerin guessed half-accurately, but with a heavy load of sarcasm. Everyone who had ever seen one of her works knew the others when they saw them. She shook her head.

“Not precisely,” she said. “I want to give him a message,” the stone sent a feel of understanding and Frerin sat down, grabbing some of the paper she had ready in the corner and a pen.

 

_Thorin Oakenshield,_

 

_I know you may not believe it (stubborn pig-head that you are) but you helped me more than anyone ever has. Without my sight I have found a craft that I adore and through that craft I meet my One._

_Without you I would not have survived the dragon and I would have entered these Halls at a mere nineteen. Therefore, as a sign on my gratitude I have made for you a sculpture to show you the craft that I found without my sight._

 

_Thank you,_

_Cyrka Stonesoul_

**Author's Note:**

> UPDATE: I've completed "Meet a Dwarrowdam" things for both Cyrka and Dyll
> 
> _Dyll daughter of Yll_  
>  T.A. 2765 – Fo.A. 56 (aged 320)
> 
> Dyll is a proud, strong and shrewd Dwarrowdam. She was born to a miner and a minstrel and, while she keeps her head firmly about her when doing her job she had an unfortunately fiery temper. She is not above soundly slapping anyone who tries to steal her goods and dragging them to the first authority figure she happens to spot. She despises the work that goes into putting braids into her hair and usually just keeps it tied up in a tight knot and out of the way, it is so long that when it's unbound she can sit on it. When Cyrka was alive it was much more usual to see Dyll in braids.
> 
> Despite her cunning in the market, however, she is woefully blind to her own feelings and even, at times, her own health. She will often dive into her work with such eagerness that she forgets to eat or drink, or even sleep, and was often seen being bodily hauled away by her wife. She often bottles up her true emotions behind her sharp and shrewd business-Dwarrowdam self. After the death of her One she worked non-stop for fully two months before she collapsed and then had to stay abed for two weeks, Óin never truly forgave her.
> 
>  
> 
> _Cyrka daughter of Dalka_  
>  T.A. 2751 – 2962 (aged 211)
> 
> Cyrka, called the Stonesoul, was born in Erebor the same year as the second Prince, Frerin. Her birth, however, was far less celebrated, as the daughter of a weaver (Baur) and a tinsmith (Dalka) she was of no big importance. When the dragon came in T.A. 2770 she was burned by his flame and lost her sigh. She did, however, not let this stop her from growing up to be a patient, kind and merry Dwarrowdam, with more than a little motherly scolding to go around, most of which landed squarely on Dyll's shoulders as they never had a child to take care of. Cyrka, though she may not have her sight, is extremely talented at weaving braids through both her own hair, and that of her One. They would often begin the day early and just sit and talk for hours while Cyrka worked through Dyll's hair and braided it with the practised fingers of a lifetime then going on to her own.
> 
> She uses her stone-sense to forge with the will of the metal and has succeeded in crafting some of the most highly valued pieces of her time. She also uses the aforementioned sense to “see” in her own way. It was through this craft that she met Dyll and, though she knew instantly that the merchant and trader before her was her One she had to work long and hard to get Dyll to realize their connection. After she did, though, they wasted no more time and promptly got married.


End file.
